The Peregrine Spy (52 page)

“I remembered that your wife doesn’t drink,” he said.

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” said Anwar.

Frank poured them each two fingers of vodka. They touched glasses and sipped but without much enthusiasm. They sat opposite each other at the table. Frank proffered caviar, then pâté, but Anwar shook his head.

“Hamid fed us before I left.”

Frank realized that in Mina’s absence the occasion would not be festive. Anwar seemed to want it that way.

Frank cut to business. “How are you doing with Belinsky?” he asked.

“Not yet with Belinsky,” said Anwar. “With Mina’s uncles in the bazaar. How we’ve done with them, that’s the first question.”

“Tell me.”

“In truth, they’ve been quite wonderful,” said Anwar. “Every kind of document. Wedding documents, birth certificates for our children, all showing that I am Baha’i. Old-looking letters where I tell my parents of my intention to convert. Your friend Mr. Belinsky seemed very impressed. And, most impressive of all, he expects within two weeks to have approval of his petition to grant me a visa.”

Frank knew Belinsky had the authority to grant the visa without seeking approval. He suspected Rocky had intervened to delay the process, to keep Anwar in Iran as a productive agent in place for as long as possible. Productive, thought Frank, but not witting and never recruited. Frank studied his Persian friend, again wearing civilian clothes. He’s done so much for us. We’ve done so little for him.

“That’s good news,” he said. “I hope it works out.”

“It’s good news,” said Anwar. “But I am worried.”

“What about?”

“Timing could be important,” said Anwar. “Mina and the children could leave now, but for me, it would be difficult to leave with the Shah’s government still in place. Even more difficult once Khomeini comes firmly to power.”

“That may not leave you much of a crack to squeeze through,” said Frank.

“I know. Plus, Mina has said she won’t leave unless all four of us leave together.”

Frank nodded, understanding why Anwar had left Mina at home. He had no ready solution to offer.

“What about your cousin?” he asked abruptly.

“My cousin? What about him?”

“Does he need to leave?”

“For now, he needs to stay in hiding. He may still have the uniform of
homafar,
but more and more he now wears the cloak of
Mojahedin.
”

“I don’t see him in the gym anymore.”

“The air force suffers. Many
homafaran
need to stay in hiding.”

“I’ve heard a rumor…”

“I know the rumor.”

“NIOC?”

Anwar nodded.

“What do you think?”

Anwar shook his head. “I have no knowledge.”

“Perhaps, for now, at least, your cousin can stay in hiding. But you can’t.”

“Timing could be important,” said Anwar.

*   *   *

When Gus returned, he and Frank shared a nightcap and the remains of the pâté and caviar. “This is a treat,” said Gus. “Nothing quite like this over at the cafeteria. Which I had about all to myself, by the way. Except for a couple of sleepy Iranians behind the counter.”

“Memories of the fat sergeant,” said Frank.

“That plus it’s Christmas,” said Gus. “But I did run into one of our air force guard buddies. The blue-eyed one. Todd Waldbaum. He got on me about never comin’ over, and to tell you the truth I think we ought to. Safety in numbers, plus they have guns. We ought to know where that place is and make sure they’ll let us in. When we even got our neighbors up on their roof shoutin’, ‘God is great,’ you and me would be sitting ducks if the shit ever really hit the fan around here.”

“You’re right,” said Frank, but he worried more about Anwar being a sitting duck than he did about himself. He knew he had to find a way to get Anwar’s visa okayed.

“You got an every-other-night deal with your Russian buddy, right?”

“Right,” said Frank, only half aware of what Gus had asked him.

“Right,” echoed Gus. “So I took a chance and told Todd we had a good shot, so far at least, to maybe get there Wednesday night. Okay?”

“Okay,” said Frank. “At least, like you said, so far. I hope it works out. ’Cause you’re right. We may need a safer safe house than this one.”

“Meanwhile,” said Gus, “I got the germ, just the germ, of an idea that might help your Russian buddy.”

“Tell me.”

“Okay. You know the job you’re up for, the one I was up for for a while?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, they’ve got media outlets, places where they can place stuff pretty much all over the world. One of them’s a rag called the
Near East Weekly Review,
published outta Qatar. My idea is to write somethin’ about the Soviet Embassy operation here in Tehran. ‘Inside a Soviet Embassy’ kinda thing. A story that covers a lot of bases but also points a finger at a likely CIA agent inside the embassy. You need to talk to Lermontov to pick out a likely candidate, maybe use the target as an anonymous but recognizable source for the story. Also get Lermontov to provide lots of juicy details about KGB ops here. You write the story. Dean Lomax gets his shop to place it real quick. Maybe with a little push from Henry James.”

“I told you I needed you,” said Frank. “I’ll try it on Lermontov next meet.”

*   *   *

“It’s a little late for a Christmas present,” said Rocky. “But I’ve got good news for that air force buddy of yours.”

“Fair exchange,” said Frank. “I’ve got a good idea from Gus.”

They sat alone in the bubble. Gus had elected to wait in Rocky’s office.

“Oh? So why didn’t Gus come up and tell it to me himself?” asked Rocky.

“Said he didn’t want to take credit for it. Or get involved in the Lermontov– Henry James business.

“I don’t blame him,” said Rocky. “What’s the idea?”

Frank outlined the concept of planting an article in the
Near East Weekly Review,
exposing KGB operations within the Soviet Embassy in Tehran and pointing to a possible CIA agent inside the embassy.

“Sounds far-fetched to me,” said Rocky. “You try it on Lermontov?”

“Not yet. Not without your go-ahead.”

“What the fuck. Covert Action crap always seems weird to me. Try it on him. We don’t have much else to try. When’s your next meet?”

“Tomorrow night.”

“Okay. Bring your ass back here after the meet. Lemme know what happened. Meantime, Belinsky got clearance to go ahead on a six-month tourist visa. He’s already got all the documentation he needs, including stuff from the wife’s family guaranteeing financial support as needed for the six months. Once we get him there, we’ll work on keeping him there.”

“Thanks, Rocky.”

“Don’t thank me. Thank Belinsky. Besides, I don’t think your buddy’s gonna do us much good here. We’ll see what him and maybe even his old lady can do for us back in the States.”

“That’s good news,” said Frank. He’d wondered what he could do to get Anwar’s visa approved. Rocky had found the answer for him. “Very good news.”

“Oh, there’s still one thing to work out on the visa. Belinsky can’t issue it until your buddy gets an airline ticket. And that could be tricky.”

*   *   *

“I have good news for you,” said Frank as he and Anwar stood over the bathroom bunghole after their Jayface meeting broke up. He had chided Gus for always meeting Hamid in the bathroom. Now he realized how consistently he met here with Anwar. “Can you come by the place tonight?”

“I will,” said Anwar.

“Nine o’clock,” said Frank. “Same deal, except, can you bring Mina?”

“Of course.”

*   *   *

With Gus again shunted off to Dowshan Tappeh, Frank settled into the front room by eight-thirty and waited for Anwar. The evening power outage had begun. He sat in the dark and sipped a chilled vodka. He wondered if he had made a mistake in telling Anwar he should bring Mina. He needed to talk to Anwar about his cousin and worried that Anwar might prefer not to say much in front of Mina, but he also needed to be sure Mina understood the importance of the airport arrangements they must make.

He lit a candle for the kitchen and two for the front room. He made sure the flashlight stood within reach and tasted another sip. Promptly at nine, a horn blew once and then twice.

*   *   *

“This is terrible,” said Mina, once she’d molted out of her headscarf and furs and settled in. She wore a heavy red wool sweater and loose-fitting black slacks tucked into her boot tops.

“Well, thank you,” said Frank. “We like to think of it as modest.”

“How can you live like this? Do you live like this in America? Can I look around upstairs?”

She gave Frank no time to answer her questions. Anwar managed to answer her last.

“No, Mina. You cannot look around upstairs.”

“Poof.”

“Now you see why I didn’t want to bring you. We have important things to talk to Major Sullivan about.”

“I am sorry. I apologize to both of you. Sometimes I just get carried away. But you deserve better.”

“To tell you the truth, I don’t much think about it. The refrigerator works, except when the electricity is out. The stove works. I can cook. The shower works. I can wash. My mattress is firm. I can sleep. What else does a man need?”

“I could answer that, but Anwar would say I’m being forward.”

“Even I can answer that,” said Anwar. “Without, I hope, being forward, what a man needs, and what this place needs, is a woman.”

“Exactly,” said Mina. “Why don’t you have your woman here?”

“Mina, please.” He turned to Frank. “She is so very nosy.”

“That’s why CIA should hire me. I would find out everything.”

You probably would, thought Frank. Including the fact that I don’t know any woman who would want to be here.

“Anwar tells me there’s good news,” said Mina. “Tell me the good news.”

“Chuck Belinsky’s ready to issue Anwar’s visa.”

“Thank God,” said Mina, suddenly very serious. “When?”

“We still have one problem.”

“I knew it,” said Mina. “I knew something would go wrong. What?”

“Nothing wrong,” said Frank. “Just a problem we can work out. But it will take some work, some discretion, perhaps some risk. Before Mr. Belinsky can issue the visa, he’ll have to see a round-trip airline ticket.”

“We knew that,” said Mina.

“But there may be some folks, like the Royal Iranian Air Force, who won’t want Anwar to leave. And the other complication…” He hesitated, glancing toward Mina.

“You can speak freely in front of Mina.”

“Anwar the Taller,” said Frank.

“Poof,” said Mina. “It’s only a stupid
Savak
rumor.”

“But
Savak,
the police, the air force … we understand everybody wants to find him.” He turned back to Anwar. “And, since you both have the same name, if you try to buy an airline ticket, alarms go off.”

“I understand the problem,” said Anwar. “You said we could work it out.”

“Listen very carefully,” said Frank. The lights fluttered on, then out again. “It gets complicated and involves both of you. First step, bring me your passport tomorrow.”

“I’ve got it now,” said Anwar.

“I’ll take it now.” Anwar took his passport from his attaché case and gave it to Frank. “Good start. Second step, Mina gets tickets for her and the children.”

“Without Anwar? I won’t do it.”

“Please, Mina. Just listen,” said Anwar. “What else?”

“We’ll help to make sure you get on a flight, but you’ll have to take care of the arrangements yourself. We’ll need three days’ advance notice. Since Pan Am started up its flights again they have only one flight a day, so don’t worry about time of departure or flight number. Just get us the date you’ll be ready to leave.”

“I feel like a spy already,” said Mina.

“Please, Mina. Just listen,” said Anwar again.

Please, just listen, thought Frank. “We’ll make another reservation, two-way ticket, the same flight in a name you don’t need to know. Day of the flight, Mr. Belinsky with his little consular officer’s kit meets Anwar at the Pan Am ticket counter. Civilian clothes, Anwar, right?”

“That’s all I wear these days. But I wonder if we have a week.”

“We’ll all move as fast as we can,” said Frank. “But we also have to avoid panic. The whole exercise has to come off smoothly. If you act nervous at any step, try to rush things at customs or immigration or the ticket counter, attract attention, get somebody mad at you, that could be the end.”

Anwar and Mina looked at each other and nodded. She reached out and took his hand.

“Let’s decide now,” said Mina. “Three days. Can you do it in three days?”

“If you can be ready in three days, we’ll do it in three days,” said Frank.

“Good,” said Anwar and Mina together.

“When departure day comes,” said Frank, “Mina and the kids get to the airport two hours early and board as soon as possible. Anwar, you should get there about an hour early, but don’t approach the ticket counter until twenty minutes before flight time. Mr. Belinsky will talk to a ticket clerk who … well, who has an arrangement with us. Mr. Belinsky tells the clerk he has a reservation that he has to cancel. Instead, his Iranian assistant, Anwar Amini, will make the trip. The clerk cancels the reservation in the phony name and issues a ticket in your true name. You carry one suitcase and check it through. You and Mr. Belinsky get away from the ticket counter. He completes some form that already has your flight number, departure details, and destination and gives you back your passport with the visa already in it.”

“What do I do all this time?” asked Mina.

“By this time you and the children have already boarded. And of course you’re wearing a long cloth coat and a headscarf. No furs; no jewelry, makeup, or perfume. If you encounter each other, at no time do you look at Anwar, speak to him, or acknowledge him in any way. You’ve got to drill the kids to do the same. The flight goes through Rome. You can hug and kiss all you want when you get there.”

“What about
Savak?
” said Anwar.

“They have people who work for all the airlines who also work for them, plus their own agents. They’ll get your name sooner or later. But timed this way, and with the clerk misplacing whatever he has to misplace, you should clear Iranian airspace long before they figure out you’re gone. Airport records of your passport show you’re the one who left, not your cousin. You’re not a fugitive. And we do, you know, have some influence with
Savak.
My boss will handle it.”